


Need a Hand

by VelkynKarma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALS, Gen, JALS, Juvenile Amyotrophic Lateral Slerosis, Major Illness, heed warnings in fic, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: When Takashi Shirogane is eight years old, he knows he's going to be an astronaut. When he's fourteen, he joins the Garrison. When he's fifteen, he receives a death sentence.





	Need a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr, which asked me to explore Shiro's illness that we learn about in s7. 
> 
> Shiro’s exact illness is never explicitly stated, he only mentions that he has “a disease that is getting worse” and that he can only maintain peak condition for a few more years, and suggests he won’t be able to do things after that. For the purposes of this fic I’m using Juvenile Amyotrophic Lateral Slerosis (JALS), which is a neurodegenerative disease that is rare and diagnosed before age 25. Obviously, this can be a sensitive topic for people, so if this makes you uncomfortable, **please do not read.**

When Shiro is eight years old, he reads a book about the the journey to Jupiter’s moons on the _Calypso_ for a report at school. He knows then and there that when he grows up, he’s going to be an astronaut.   
  
His parents think it’s a phase, at first, but they indulge him. His grandfather buys him more books on space. His mother lets him watch all the documentaries on the science channels about the first moon landing over a hundred years ago, and the first colonies on Mars, and to _see_ the _Calypso_ on-screen. His father takes him to the space museum for his birthday, and he gets to see all the ships up close, and he’s never been more happy.   
  
It’s not a phase, and by ten years old, his family knows he’s really, genuinely serious about his dream to be a pilot. Shiro tells them about a place he’s heard about called the Garrison, a place where the best astro-explorers are trained and all the best pilots go. They have a cadet program that you can join instead of going to a normal high school, and Shiro wants more than anything to be a part of it.  
  
They’re not exactly rich, but his family does what they can to help him get there. His mother researches all the requirements needed to get into the Garrison: excellent grades, excellent physical health, a disciplined mindset, a good team ethic. Shiro is certain he can do all of those things. He works hard in school to get the absolute best grades possible. His parents scrape together enough money for martial arts lessons, so he can be as physically fit and ready as he can be for the military training of the school. He’s always been good at following the rules and working with his classmates, so he doesn’t think he’ll have any problems there.  
  
At fourteen, he does it.   
  
He applies for the Garrison and passes with flying colors. The physicals are simple. His grades are exemplary. The simulation tests are incredible, and even if they’re not real—even if it’s just like a video game—he already feels like this is _him,_ like this is what he’s meant for. His tester seems stunned at just how easy the simulations are for him, how far he gets in them before finally crashing.   
  
The Garrison accepts him. His original tester, a man named Sam Holt (Commander— _Commander_ Holt, he has to remember military titles now) says the Garrison would be fools _not_ to take him. They give him a full scholarship to attend, since his family can’t afford the tuition easily.   
  
“I have a feeling you will be one of the greatest pilots of our time,” Commander Holt says, patting Shiro on the shoulder, as the paperwork is finally wrapped up and Shiro officially becomes a Garrison cadet.  
  
Shiro couldn’t be prouder. At last, his dreams are coming true.  
  
At fifteen, Shiro learns that his chances of living to see thirty are slim.  
  
It’s not obvious at first. He works hard at the Garrison every day, so occasional stiffness or weakness in his muscles doesn’t seem all that strange. He’s just tired, and overworking himself a little, but that’s fine, isn’t it? He wants to be the best pilot he can be. He needs to work hard for that.  
  
The muscle spasms are a little less normal, though. He’s never encountered anything like that before, not even after working himself into exhaustion in his martial arts exercises. Those worry him a little, but he tries to ignore them.   
  
But after one incident causes him to over-correct badly in a training simulation, with the controls twitching forward too far in his right hand and causing his simulated fighter to nearly nose-dive into the ground, he realizes he can’t ignore it anymore. So he nervously visits the Garrison medical center, and they run their tests.   
  
He hopes it’s just fatigue. That maybe they’ll come back and tell him to not push himself so hard, eat more vegetables and get more sleep, and that’s all it will take.  
  
The don’t come back with simple advice. They come back with a death sentence.   
  
He has a disease. A ‘progressive neurodegenerative disease,’ which means it’s just going to keep getting worse, until it eventually kills him. His muscles are going to keep getting weaker and more useless, until he’s eventually bedridden. There’s no cure.  
  
He’s only fifteen. He hasn’t even had a chance to go to space yet. His dream hasn’t _happened._ And already he’s learning he’s lived half his life.   
  
He’s in shock. The Garrison excuses him from classes for a few days, while they fly his family in to discuss next steps. Commander Holt checks in on him almost constantly, as does his son, Matt. Matt’s in the same classes as Shiro and has become a good friend in his one year as a cadet, and often stops by to give updates on lessons or just see how he’s doing.   
  
The Holts are good people. It’s probably the only reason Shiro even manages to stay afloat for those few days, with that awful news rushing through his head, over and over.  
  
 _I’ve already lived half of my life. I’m going to die. Slowly and painfully._  
  
It doesn’t seem fair.  
  
Once his family has arrived, Shiro sits sandwiched between his parents, still half in shock, as the Garrison medical staff explains the situation. At Shiro’s request, Commander Holt is there too—he’d been so supportive through all of this so far, and Shiro has been clinging to that stability with everything he has. He needs that now more than ever.  
  
There’s no cure, the doctor explains. There have been some advancements since the disease was first discovered, ways to treat the symptoms and make life a little bit easier, but there’s no way to fix him. There are some medications that can be taken, or some experimental treatments or tools that can be tried. Physical therapy could help, as could moderate exercise, but it will become important not to over-work himself physically as this could exacerbate the disease’s effects on his muscles.   
  
They will have to let him go from the program, the doctor adds regretfully. It isn’t safe for a student with an illness like this to be part of a military organization. Too many opportunities for him to injure himself, or for his symptoms to cause a mission failure that could in turn cause the deaths of others.   
  
Shiro lets most of the information roll off of him in a daze, but at that, he looks up. “But I haven’t had a chance to go to space, yet,” he says, voice soft.   
  
The closest doctor looks deeply apologetic. “I’m sorry, cadet, but it can’t be permitted,” he says. “The Garrison will of course provide information on skilled civilian doctors and treatment options for your family to review to assist with your healthcare. You’ve been an excellent student—we’ll make sure you have access to proper medical help.”  
  
“This is my _dream,”_ Shiro says, standing up from his chair. It’s not protocol—he’s pretty sure even as a doctor this person outranks him and he’s not supposed to be doing this—but he leans forward to press his hands pleadingly on their desk. His right arm hurts at that. It feels stiff again, and he hates it. “I’ve wanted this for years. I can’t let it go now because of this. _Please.”_  
  
The doctor looks about to speak again, but Commander Holt steps forward before he can. “I don’t think we should be so hasty in dismissing Cadet Shirogane,” he says firmly. “Not until we know the course of this illness.”  
  
“Medical records are clear. He can’t—“  
  
“He _could,”_ Holt cuts in sharply. “Juvenile Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis is a serious condition, but it presents at varying rates. He could be bedridden by the end of the year—or his symptoms could remain manageable until he’s forty or fifty years old. He’s only just been diagnosed. It’s far too early to tell how that progression will present.”  
  
For the first time since receiving the news, Shiro feels a flicker of hope. It’s tiny, just a spark—not enough to warm his iced over heart just yet. But it’s a little light in the dark, and maybe, if he could just find his way…  
  
“The program is for training astro-explorers,” the doctor argues. “This cadet would be training for something he would not be able to actually perform. He would not have access to the medical care necessary in the event that his condition worsens while in deep space. It would be far safer for him to leave the program and remain on Earth, where he will have access to medical help.”  
  
“I will not dismiss a cadet as skilled as Takashi Shirogane on the basis of _maybes_ and _what-ifs,_ ” Commander Holt says. “Not if he wants to be here, and clearly he does. Not only does he want to be, he _deserves_ to be. He’s born to fly. For the Garrison to throw him away over this, we’d have to _all_ be fools.”  
  
“The superior officers would never permit it. I would have to report this to Admiral Sanda.”  
  
The little flicker of hope in Shiro’s heart dies at that. Admiral Sanda is strict, and believes in protocol over all else. He’ll probably never have a chance now. He stumbles back wearily into his seat, between his parents.  
  
“I will discuss the matter with Admiral Sanda,” Commander Holt says. “I don’t believe in making such a hasty decision over this. We should at _least_ permit Cadet Shirogane to complete the training program. His symptoms can be monitored over the remaining three years of his schooling and a more accurate understanding of the progression of his illness can be made. With modern science, his current symptoms are quite manageable, as long as he is made aware of how to care for them. If the progression gets worse and participation in the program becomes a health risk for him, then I will step aside. But I do not believe in robbing this young man of his dream because too hasty a decision has been made.”  
  
The doctor sighs. “Fine. I will delay the paperwork for now, but I _am_ enforcing no classes or simulations until the issue is resolved. As you yourself said, he should _not_ be participating in the training until he knows how to manage his symptoms and a proper care program has been created.”   
  
“That seems reasonable,” Commander Holt agrees.   
  
The doctor discusses a few more details with Shiro’s parents, both of whom have their arms wrapped around Shiro’s shoulders. He’s not sure if they’re trying to comfort him, or if they’re clinging to him desperately. It must be awful to get the news that your child is going to die of some terrible disease you couldn’t prevent. It’s not even their fault. It sounds like it’s not even always hereditary. He’s just unlucky. Born wrong.  
  
He ignores most of it, falling back into a numb, cold daze. He appreciates Commander Holt’s try, but he knows it won’t work. His dream is dead, and he’ll be following soon after.   
  
What a nightmare.  
  
“Takashi?”  
  
Shiro blinks, and looks up tiredly. Commander Holt looks down at him, and both his parents are staring at him as well, like they’re waiting for an answer. “Sorry,” he mutters. “What?”  
  
“I asked if I could speak to you alone for a moment,” Commander Holt says. “It’s all right if you need a little time, though. We can talk later.”  
  
“No. It’s okay.” He nods to his parents, who both release him reluctantly and stand.   
  
“We’ll be right outside waiting for you,” his mother says. There’s something awful in her expression that looks broken. He’s never seen his mother that way before. That’s his fault, and he feels terrible about it. He’s almost glad they’re going outside, if only for a moment, so he doesn’t have to see what he’s done to her, or to his father. He nods.  
  
Commander Holt waits until they’re both outside, and then to Shiro’s surprise, he settles down on one knee in front of Shiro’s chair. It puts them at eye level, and Shiro can see the man’s expression clearly. He’s patient and understanding and kind, and Shiro has never been more grateful to know him than at that moment.   
  
“How are you doing, son?” he asks softly. He always does that. Calls Shiro ‘son.’ Like he cares. Probably because he does, and it hits Shiro suddenly that all this must hurt Commander Holt, too.   
  
That puts an unexpected lump in his throat, and that feels _stupid_. He hasn’t cried yet over this at all, and _he’s_ the one that’s dying. He tries to swallow it down, but his voice is still thick when he answers, “Not so good.”  
  
“Understandable,” Holt says, very gently. Inviting more, if Shiro wants to explain.  
  
He does want to, he realizes suddenly, and the words come out of him in a rush. “This was my _dream,”_ he whispers, voice still thick. “I wanted to fly so badly. I wanted to see the Mars colonies. The moons the _Calypso_ landed on. Saturn’s rings. I wanted to go even farther than that—where people have never been. I wanted to see new stars and planets. Maybe even meet other people out there.”   
  
“You still can, son,” Commander Holt says.  
  
“No, I can’t,” Shiro says bitterly. “They won’t let me. Admiral Sanda won’t let it happen. I’m sick. I wouldn’t be a very good pilot like this. I’ve…I’ve already messed up a flight simulation. If it was real people I could’ve gotten them killed.” He curls his left hand around his right arm, digging his fingers in deep in shame and frustration. He wishes he could just claw the stiffness and the _badness_ out that way, but nothing is ever that easy.  
  
“Shiro,” Holt says, and puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder gently, “You _can_ still do this, if you really want to. I wasn’t lying just now. Your symptoms _can_ be managed. That accident in the simulations could easily have been remedied with the proper medications. There are special electro-stimulators now that the Garrison has been experimenting with—they can be used to help you manage muscle problems. There are ways to make sure you’re not hurting and you’re still physically fit.”  
  
Shiro blinks at him slowly, disbelieving.  
  
“You can do it,” Holt repeats. “But it’s going to be hard. You’ll have to learn to manage all your symptoms, and be responsible about what you can and can’t do. You’re going to have to push twice as hard for every step forward you take.   
  
“Most of all, you’re always going to have to fight for your right to be here. If you make it through the program, they’ll argue about you receiving a rank and commendation. If you gain a rank, they’ll fight you on short-term missions. If you succeed in short-term missions, they’ll fight you on the life-changing ones. It’s going to be difficult, son.”  
  
He squeezes Shiro’s shoulder. “But if you want to do that—if you _really_ want to fight those battles, and be a pilot in spite of all of it—then I’ll fight for you, too. Down to the last stand.” He smiles. “And I’ve got a little more clout around here than you do.”   
  
Shiro stares at him. How can he smile now? After everything that’s happened?   
  
“They’d never let me,” Shiro repeats. “Admiral Sanda won’t let it happen. Nobody will.”  
  
“You leave Admiral Sanda to me,” Commander Holt says. “And you worry about your studies, you hear?” He’s still smiling gently, but there’s a knowing, determined look in his eyes as well.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Shiro asks, very softly. “You barely even know me.”  
  
“Maybe I don’t,” Commander Holt agrees. “But everyone needs a hand sometimes.” He drops his own from Shiro’s shoulder, and offers it in a handshake instead.  
  
Shiro stares at it.  
  
“I’m willing to help you with this,” Commander Holt says. “I don’t want to see anyone force you to give up on your dream. But I have to know if it’s what _you_ want. If that’s a battle you’re willing to fight.”  
  
Shiro stares at his hand. Swallows. He can feel that little flicker of hope rekindling, warming his iced-over heart, his numb mind, his frozen body. That warmth grows. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he really _did_ have a shot. But only if he’s willing to take it.  
  
How badly does he want to see the stars? To visit other worlds? To fly through the depths of space, and go where no human has ever been? Is he willing to struggle every day for the rest of his life for that chance?   
  
Yes. A hundred thousand times, _yes._  
  
His hand moves almost on its own. That’s not his disease, although maybe the trembling in it is. He wraps his fingers around Commander Holt’s in as firm a handshake as he can manage, and grips it tightly.   
  
“I’ll fight,” he says, and he’s surprised to hear the fire in his own voice. “I’ll _fight._ I’m going to do it. No matter what.”  
  
“Excellent,” Commander Holt says, shaking his hand gently but firmly, sealing the deal. “I stand by what I said last year, Cadet Shirogane. You are going to be the greatest pilot this world has ever seen.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea that part of the reason Shiro reaches out to Keith and helps him get a second chance is that somebody did the same thing for him, once, when he was Keith's age. That's where this fic came from.


End file.
